


Holmes is Where the Heart Is

by Megg33k



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Minor Injuries, as fluffy as a cloud of marshmallows, so fluffy you might die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 15:00:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megg33k/pseuds/Megg33k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg is injured in the line of duty, and Mycroft responds in a surprising way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holmes is Where the Heart Is

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pkmndaisuki](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=pkmndaisuki).



> This was written for Jackie (pkmndaisuki) for her birthday! She specifically asked for "Mystrade. And fluffy. As fluffy as a cloud of marshmallows." And because I love her and want her to be happy, I did my best. I tried to keep the boys in character as much as possible, but Mycroft doesn't lend well to fluff. So, I hope he's not too terribly OOC. Even if he is though, it's worth it if it makes Jackie smile. Happy birthday, gorgeous! ♥

The polished chestnut handle of a black cane brolly lay slick against a sweaty palm. Black leather cap toe oxfords shuffled anxiously on drab carpeting. A well-manicured fist was raised to knock, but it instead hovered pensively just millimeters from the wood of the door. There was an uncomfortable flutter in Mycroft’s stomach, and if he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn he was nervous. _Holmeses don’t get nervous,_ he silently reassured himself.

_knock, knock, knock_

His light rapping elicited movement he could hear from inside the flat. He ached to flee, but the knob was already turning. Just across the threshold stood DI Greg Lestrade, wearing nothing but pyjama pants and a wide stripe of bandages across his ribcage.

Greg jerked his head roughly toward the back of the flat and winced as he stumbled off in that direction. Mycroft looked him over, assessing the situation before following. _Well-dressed wounds, slight angle to the bandaging, John’s work. Irregular gait, still in pain, under-medicated, likely by choice._ He slipped off his shoes and padded along behind his injured… friend? _Holmeses don’t have friends either._

Mycroft stood in the doorway of the bedroom, leaning against the frame and admiring the view. He watched as the Greg approached the bed and attempted to wriggle out of his clothing. Mycroft’s lips were pursed. “Gregory… What exactly are you doing?”

Greg shrugged. “I know why you come here, Myc. Sure, the timing’s not great, but it’s not like you knew.”

Mycroft closed his eyes and shook his head. “Of course I knew, Gregory. That’s why I’m here, not… well… the usual reasons.” He sighed. “Lie down before you injure yourself further, would you?”

“Yeah, okay.” Greg looked wary but did as instructed.

The dark pinstripe jacket adoring Mycroft’s shoulders was shrugged off, folded neatly, and laid across the arm of a chair in the corner of the room. His waistcoat quickly followed suit. Once his umbrella was gingerly leaned against them, he made his way to the bed and took a seat next to Lestrade. He ran his fingers through Greg’s short, silver locks, the pad of his thumb tracing a worried brow. “My interests in you aren’t purely sexual, you know?” It was strange to hear those words in his voice.

“Aren’t they?”

Mycroft briefly considered the question while playing with a few stray silver strands of chest hair. The answer, though clear, was equal parts relieving and terrifying. “They’re not.” He cleared his throat. “The truth is I’ve come to care a great deal for you over the last year.”

“Have you now?” Both Greg’s tone and expression indicated he didn’t believe the admission.

Mycroft waved away the man’s doubt with a flip of his hand. “Believe what you like. I could go if you’d prefer to be alone?”

Greg gripped Mycroft’s wrist harder than was strictly necessary. “No, please… I just… you don’t usually talk much about your feel—” He stopped abruptly, his eyes darting around the room nervously. “You don’t usually talk much at all.”

Mycroft swung his legs onto the bed and slipped under the covers next to Greg. He worked his arm under the detective’s head. “Perhaps now is the time to change that? Would you like me to talk more about my feelings, Gregory?”

Greg nuzzled his face against the high quality cotton cloaking Mycroft’s arms and torso. “Maybe,” came his barely audible response.

“Well…” Mycroft pressed his lips to the crown of Greg’s head. “This is a bit unorthodox for me, but I’m willing to try… for you.” He adjusted his position slightly, clearly discomfited with the very idea of tapping into emotions he liked to pretend he didn’t have. “When I heard you’d been shot today, I panicked. It was a strange sensation. I bring about the rise and fall of entire nations without so much as a momentary flutter, but the thought of you being injured…” He paused to collect himself, staring down into Greg’s surprised hazel eyes. “My chest tightened, and I found it difficult to breathe. It was terribly unpleasant.”

“I’m sorry?” Greg sounded amusingly uncertain of himself.

Mycroft chuckled. “Don’t be. You didn’t mean to get shot, I presume.”

Greg shook his head. “I didn’t mean to worry you, though.”

“It’s fine, Gregory.” Mycroft steeled himself. The next words he would have to say would be the hardest of his life. The sentiment he needed to express wasn’t one to which he was accustomed, neither in theory nor in articulation. “How else am I meant to react when I find out the man I love has been shot?” He suppressed a shudder.

The smile on Greg’s face slowly grew until he was absolutely beaming. “Did you just say you lo—”

“Yes. Now, let’s not discuss it further, shall we?”

“Did you mean it?”

Mycroft scowled. “Do you suspect it’s something I say often, particularly when it’s untrue?”

Greg wrapped his fist in the expensive silk of Mycroft’s tie. “I never thought I’d say this to anyone again, but I love you too.” He pulled Mycroft into a gentle kiss.

The uncomfortable flutter from Mycroft’s stomach had ascended comfortably into his chest. They weren’t words he was used to hearing, but they washed over him rather nicely. He wasn’t opposed to hearing them again… more often. “Are you sure about that?”

Greg kissed along Mycroft’s jaw before pressing their foreheads together.  “Mm…” He hummed as he nodded. “I love you, Myc.” He kissed the tip of Mycroft’s nose. “I’ve been waiting so long to say it; I sort of don’t want to stop.”

Mycroft’s lips twitched into a grin before connecting with Greg’s again. The kiss was deeper, more passionate than before. “Then don’t,” he replied when the separated.

Greg fumbled with the buckle of Mycroft’s belt, tugging at his shirt to try and free it from beneath his waistband. “I love you, Mycroft Holmes, and I’m having you right this instant.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Mycroft tutted, wagging a finger at Greg. Stopping him was the second hardest thing he’d had to do that day, and that didn’t count peace treaty he’d orchestrated between two warring nations. “I’m here to take care of you today. There’ll be plenty of time for that once you’re healed.”

“But…” Greg whined.

Mycroft adjusted himself, cursing his overzealous sense of responsibility, and climbed out of the bed. “You stay. I have a very important phone call to make. Back in a moment.”

Getting away from Greg was imperative to Mycroft maintaining his resolve. His affinity for the detective’s wiles was precisely what had gotten him into his current predicament. The most powerful man in Britain had fallen in love with a lowly detective inspector… It was scandalous. He smirked. Deliciously so.

He flicked through the contacts in his phone until he found the right one and pressed send. He waited impatiently as the ringing in his ear grated on his nerves. Finally, a sickeningly sweet female voice replaced the ringing. “Ah, Mother. Mycroft here… Yes, fine… Mmm, him too. John does take rather good care of him… Shot, actually. That’s why I’m calling… No, no, he’s fine. I’m here helping him along… No, I suppose nursing isn’t my forte. I learned what I know from you, after all. Still, I’m managing… Odd, I found it amusing. Never mind that. I require your chicken soup recipe… Yes, fine, _her_ chicken soup recipe. I wouldn’t want to give credit where it wasn’t due. Send it along, will you?… Mmm, yes, thanks. You, too.” After hanging up, he waited until his phone buzzed to indicate he’d received the proper information.

He placed on more quick call to Anthea. She answered on the first ring. “Anthea, darling… I’m sending along a list of ingredients. Be a dear and pick them up along with one of my chef’s, will you? I’m at Gregory’s flat. The door will be unlocked. I prefer we not be disturbed, so just have him come in quietly and get to work. Thanks, love.” He hung up again. She never spoke a word, but he had no doubt the task would be completed precisely as he detailed it.

Mycroft made his way back to the bedroom and began to undress, his newly discarded clothing joining the previously discarded items on the chair. Wearing naught but his undershirt, pants, socks, and sock garters, he crawled back into bed next to Greg and smiled. “All done.”

“World can’t go ten minutes without needing you to save it?”

“Mmm… something like that. I did have to negotiate with a tyrant.” Mycroft suppressed a chuckled and slid his arm back under Greg’s neck. “Took care of dinner while I was at it, too.”

“Multitasking? Should I be impressed?” Greg looked over Mycroft’s attire. “Does this mean you’ve changed your mi—”

Mycroft cut him off with a kiss. “Not a chance, Gregory. Can’t a man with to feel his lover against his skin without any ulterior motive?”

Greg’s eyes narrowed. “Am I… your… boyfriend now?”

Mycroft’s breath caught in his chest. “I’ve never been one to understand the necessity of such titles, but I suppose so, if you like.”

Greg curled his body around Mycroft’s. “I do.” He tensed. “Two more words I swore I’d never say again.”

“Hmm…” Mycroft hummed in quiet contemplation. “Never say never, Gregory.”

“Wait…” Greg’s brow furrowed then his eyes slowly widened. “Are you… are you asking?”

“Gracious, no.” Mycroft chuckled.

“No, of course not.” Greg’s face fell, his expression wrought with disappointment. “I didn’t mean to presu—”

“Not today. I’m terribly unprepared. I reserve the right to do so in the future, though. Unless you have some objection?”

Greg clung to his side, shaking his head and smiling against the crook of Mycroft’s neck. “No, no.”

“Excellent. Now, sleep. I need you well-rested and healed up soon. I won’t be able to keep my hands off of you for long, and I would hate to cause you any undue discomfort.”

“Mm… ‘kay,” Greg murmured sleepily. “I love you, Myc.”

Mycroft allowed his head to sink into the pillow. “As well you should.”

Greg looked up at him with big, sad eyes. “Myc?”

Mycroft met his gaze and noted how irresistible he was like that. “I love you too, Gregory. Now sleep.”

“Thank you.” Greg closed his eyes and was soon asleep.

Mycroft watched the detective dozing at his side, listening to him breathe. He grinned, blinking away a tear he refused to acknowledge. Never once in his youth had he ever allow himself to even hope for such a moment. He was ‘different’ and that was often equated with a life of misery. Yet, here he was… here _they_ were. His gaze flicked toward his left ring finger. _Never say never._


End file.
